


Safe Word

by Bitter_Baristas



Series: Spideypool Oneshots [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Aftercare, Age Difference, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Bottom Peter Parker, Consensual Non-Consent, Dissociation, Dom Wade, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fear, Headspace, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Love Bites, M/M, Male Slash, Marking, Name-Calling, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Safewords, Subspace, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Baristas/pseuds/Bitter_Baristas
Summary: His safe word. What is his safe word? Kettle corn. His safe word that he’s never used before but has had since he got with Wade. Kettle corn. All he has to do is say kettle corn.He wills himself to say it. Screams the words in his mind. They won’t come out. His mouth refuses to cooperate and his body is giving up on him too. It’s like he’s deep underwater, all his movements slowed. Can he breathe? Is he breathing? He can’t tell.Peter and Deadpool decide to try something new in the bedroom, with less than stellar results.





	Safe Word

**Author's Note:**

> I covered it in the tags, but I really want to nail this home. IF YOU AREN'T COMFORTABLE WITH RAPE FANTASY PLEASE DON'T CONTINUE. If RF is something that might trigger you, proceed with caution or click that back button. No one needs to feel unsafe, so please continue only if you're okay with seeing rough, consensual non-con.
> 
> ....
> 
> ....You're still here? Okay, let's get on with it then.

Sex with Deadpool is always good. Whether it’s vanilla love-making or kinky role playing, Peter always feels Wade’s love warming him. There has never been a time when Deadpool made him feel unsafe.

They’ve tried different things to see what Peter likes, and he’s discovered a few things about himself. He likes to play submissive. Not every time and they’ve never gone hardcore, but he likes it. He likes being at Wade’s mercy, ‘helpless’ to his Daddy. (That he and Wade both have a Daddy kink isn’t surprising to him, not really. At first it was something he felt ashamed of, but Deadpool quickly put any notions about it being wrong to rest.)

They’ve tried different things for Wade, too, but he already has a wide repertoire of things he likes. Some of them, and this makes him twist with guilt, are too much for Peter. He wants to please his boyfriend and feels like a failure when he admits, red-faced, that he doesn’t want to forcefully ‘take’ Deadpool.

The man brought it up after their round of what Peter could only think to call angry sex. Although he had been angry at Mr. Stark, not Wade. It had also only been his fourth or fifth time topping. It was fun, he’d enjoyed himself, but what Wade was proposing wasn’t angry sex. It was rape.

Not real rape, of course. Wade suggested a very controlled environment, a sort of script for them to follow. Peter would knock on the door, Wade would answer, and he’d force himself into the apartment. Wade had left Peter’s motive for doing this a mystery, and that was almost fitting because Peter really had no clue as to why he _would_ do that. Or why _anyone_ would do that to another person. As Spider-Man he’d stumbled across rapes and attempted rapes, and they were always horrible. They weren’t _sexy_.

They were ripped clothes and bruises and bleeding and crying. They were him sitting a respectful distance away while the police and ambulance were en route.

He doesn’t want to do that to his boyfriend. That isn’t to say he doesn’t understand where the appeal comes from. He likes laying sprawled on their bed at Deadpool’s mercy. He likes it when a little bit of pain mixes with his pleasure. He _loves_ Deadpool’s near constant narration. Telling him how delicious he looks, how good he feels.

Peter knows being ordered around and ‘powerless’ can be arousing. The part he’s scared of is that Wade doesn’t just want to submit, he wants to be forced. He wants Peter to hit him, humiliate him. The thought of hurting his beloved in that way makes his stomach churn.

Then he thinks about Wade’s history of abuse and that sick feeling transforms into all-consuming fury. Someone actually did force Deadpool to do things he didn’t want to. Someone used him for their pleasure and then cast him aside like trash.

So why does Deadpool want him to reenact some perverse, pseudo-attack?

Peter is a smart man, naturally gifted with a brain designed for puzzles and equations. This, he reasons, is a real life brain teaser. Going at the situation with that mindset, he sits at their kitchen table in front of a legal pad, tapping the yellow paper with his pencils eraser. There are a few ideas jotted down, written in all caps and chicken scratches.

He eventually comes to a conclusion that sates his unknowing. He surmises it isn’t about the brutality of being forced that makes the scene pleasurable, but the comfort that with a single word it can all be stopped. The knowledge that his partner is willing and doing something hurtful _for_ him. Not _to_ him.

Peter scrambles to close his notebook when Deadpool shuffles into the kitchen, wearing ratty sweatpants and fuzzy slippers. He’s not fully awake yet and passes Peter wordlessly, scratching his rear as he begins to brew coffee.

Water hisses softly out of the tap into the coffee pot, which gurgles and steams as it spits coffee. Deadpool sits heavily across from him, looking him up and down curiously.

“No work today?” He asks, referring to Peter’s Hello Kitty pajama pants and ‘got science’ T-shirt.

He shakes his head, leg bouncing up and down. “No, I, uh, called in. I wanted to, wanted to--what I mean is…” Peter stammers, heat rising to his cheeks. “I was thinking…” Deadpool’s head is cocked to one side and he’s silent as he waits for Peter to finish. “I was thinking about what you asked me the other day.”

Deadpool’s brow furrows with confusion and Peter resists hiding his face in his hands. “The… sex thing.”

“Oh!” Deadpool perks up. “What about it?”

Peter mentally groans. Of course Wade has already put that from his mind. After his initial reaction the man had reassured him at length that it was fine if he wasn’t comfortable with that kind of thing. He then dropped the subject completely. Because Wade respected his boundaries.

Well, Peter respected the others much more broadened boundaries.

“I want to try it.” He says with conviction he didn’t know he had.

He expects Wade to be ecstatic, to burst with excitement. The opposite is what he gets. Deadpool’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and he knows the other is searching his face and body language for any reluctance. Peter decides now is the time to name his condition.

“There is one thing I need for this to happen.”

Deadpool nods slowly, the suspicion wavering at his statement. He then grins, seriousness leaving him. “Absolutely, baby boy. Whatever you need to be comfortable.”

Deadpool’s morality and restrictions are far less black and white than Peter’s, and he’s certain he can accommodate to whatever it is that Peter needs from him.

“I want you to do to me, what you want _me_ to do to _you_.”

Well, Deadpool _had_ been certain. Across the table, Peter watches him. Eyes scrutinize him like he’s an experiment, elbows folded on the tabletop and back hunched. All of the boy’s attention is focused on him.

“Peter,” Deadpool starts, gently, and Peter shivers.

Deadpool hardly ever calls him Peter. It’s always Petey, or baby boy, or Spidey, or some other sickeningly sweet and sometimes derogatory term of endearment. He called him Peter when they first slept together, and then again when he thought he was hurt. ‘Peter’ is reserved for earnest expressions of love and worry.

“You don’t have to do anything just to make me happy. You already make me crazy, stupid, fucking happy. If somethings are off the table that’s okay.”

The words are meant to sway Peter to what he’s comfortable with, but they have a contrary effect. Deadpool’s understanding makes Peter want to fulfil the man’s fantasy even more. If Deadpool holds his needs with such reverence, he wants to do the same for Deadpool’s needs.

Peter’s smart. He knows Deadpool won’t condone doing this if he thinks Peter is simply doing it for him. He needs to believe that Peter wants to do it of his own volition.

“I want to try it,” he says, and realizes it’s not a total lie. “I’m just really nervous. I don’t want to hurt you. I need to know what I’m doing to you feels like so I can get an idea of boundaries.” More things pile up in his throat and he can’t swallow them down. “I’m worried you won’t safe word if you need to.”

Given Deadpool’s history with abuse--which Peter only has a vague knowledge of, but is hyper aware it’s there--it’s not far fetched to think the man will ignore his own limits. Let himself be pushed too far and get hurt in the process.

Deadpool’s chair scrapes on the hardwood as he stands. In seconds he is crushing Peter in a hug. “Oh, baby boy,” his voice returns to a familiar tone. “You’re so sweet I’m going to get cavities! Alright, if you want to do this I’ll be happy to give you a demonstration.”

Peter smiles, finds he’s actually excited. He clears his throat. “What, uh, what do we need to do to prepare? I have the whole day off.”

Deadpool kneels beside his chair and squeezes both of his hands in his much bigger ones. “We have so much to discuss! Am I an intruder? A stranger? How rough do you want me to be? I mean, I can probably take more than you can so we should start small and work our way up, y'know, set ground rules.” Deadpool is talking quickly, counting off a list on his fingers.

Peter shakes his head, smile curling his lips. He places a hand on Deadpool’s bare shoulder, the action causing him to pause his excited babbling.

“I think you’ve put more thought into this than me, but I did think about it.” And by think he meant read a handful of rape fantasy stories online, varying extremely in quality of work. He’d also browsed a few forums on reddit and he really hopes he isn’t on some sort of watch list now. Or worse, that Tony could hack into his internet history.

“I came up with a few rules.” Peter opens his notebook to a page where he’s written down some of the guidelines he read about. “If I resist, punish me. You can, uh, you know… call me names, if you wanna. Humiliate me. Tie me down, if you want to.” Despite the shyness filling him, he meets Wade’s gaze. “I trust you, just, maybe don’t beat me up or anything.”

Deadpool nods vigorously, standing. He ruffles Peter’s hair affectionately. “‘M so proud of my Petey-pie, doing his research."

Peter presses his thighs together and swings his legs nervously. “How should we start?”

“I’ll leave for,” Deadpool clucks his tongue thoughtfully. “A half hour and knock on the door. Wear whatever you want to, it might get torn.” He wiggles his non-existent eyebrows.

Peter inhales, unsure if the coil in his stomach is apprehension or anticipation. Both, maybe.

“Okay,” he nods.

“Okay.” Deadpool echos. “I gotta change, don’t look. Oh! Are you okay with a few surprises to keep you on your toes?”

Peter nods jerkily and covers his eyes with one hand, parting two fingers to feign peeking.

A couple of minutes after Wade leaves, Peter heads to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, thinks about what to wear. Then an idea strikes him and he smirks at his reflection. He gets into the shower, careful to wash and rinse his hair quickly even though Deadpool isn’t due back for another twenty-five minutes.

He uses all of the good-smelling bath items Wade has cluttered their bathroom with. Vanilla body wash, citrus orange shampoo and conditioner. He gets all of the washing out of the way and stays in the shower until he hears a succession of three, heavy knocks. He wraps his waist in a plush white towel and cracks open the door.

Deadpool fills the doorway with his large body, dressed in wrinkled blue jeans and a maroon hoodie, the hood pulled down over his head and creating a shadow on his face.

“Can I help you?” Peter asks, shielding himself with the door.

“I think I have the wrong address,” Deadpool says gruffly. “But you sure as hell can help me, baby boy.” The pet name, usually said with love, sounds menacing and dark.

Peter plays dumb. “What apartment are you looking for, sir? This is 129-B. A is two floors down.”

“Oh, I don’t need directions, beautiful.” Deadpool uses his bulk to enter, closing the door behind him and clicking it locked.

Peter steps back unintentionally. “What are you doing?” His voice comes out shrill. Deadpool grins, stalking forward.

“That is, unless you wanted to give me directions to your bedroom.”

Peter trembles, rooted to the spot, and stutters something unintelligible. Deadpool’s grin widens. “I can find it myself.” He pulls his gun from the holster he always wears, suit or not. “Or you can show me. Your choice sweetheart.”

_Are you okay with a few surprises to keep you on your toes?_

Peter had agreed to that thoughtlessly, not devoting a moment to think about what Deadpool might have meant. Staring down the barrel of Deadpool’s gun turns Peter’s legs to led and tears sting his eyes.

“P-p-pplease. Please, don’t hurt me.” He backs away, crying in earnest and sinking lower with each backwards step until he’s on the floor, scooting away. His back hits the wall and he whimpers, eyes never leaving the gun he’s sure isn’t loaded. He’s shaking uncontrollably now. The fear is saturating, and he truly is scared, but also, to his slight astonishment, turned on. Wade is _good_ at this.

There’s a brief moment where doubt crosses Deadpool’s face, and then it’s gone. He follows his victim, towering over the quivering form of his lover.

“I won’t have to hurt you,” he coos sweetly. “If you do what I fucking say, slut.”

The way Deadpool’s voice goes from cooing to gravelly in a split-second throws Peter. _How did he do that?_ His curiosity goes as fast as it came. Deadpool is hauling him to his feet and he drops his towel in the process. The cold metal presses to his naked back and Peter is shaking so hard his knees knock together.

He’s had guns pointed at him on multiple occasions and he’d never been paralyzed like this.

Deadpool shoves him, marches him to the bedroom. He hears the click of the gun cocking.

 _It’s not loaded. There’s no way it’s loaded._ Peter thinks.

It’s getting hard to breathe.

Deadpool locks the bedroom door and advances on Peter until he falls back onto the mattress. He boxes the boy in with his much bigger frame. “Are you going to be a good boy, or do I need to gag you? You’re not going to ruin our fun by yelling for help, are you?”

Peter knows the threat is an empty one, but the fear is real. It’s suffocating and tangible, and in spite of himself he feels his cock twitch.

“I’ll be good.” He whispers.

“Yeah, you’ll be my good boy.” Deadpool purrs, hand stroking Peter’s cheek. “Answering the door dripping wet wearing nothing but a towel, you were waiting for someone like me, weren’t you. Be honest.”

“I was waiting for someone like you.” Peter parrots, a numb feeling crawling up him as his struggles cease.

“You were waiting for someone to fuck you like the whore you are, isn’t that right?” Wade’s voice is so close to his ear he can feel his breath.

“Yeah.”

The gun presses to his temple. “Say it right, bitch.”

Peter frowns, confused, and then understands. “I was waiting for you to fuck me like a whore.”

He had said to humiliate him. Although he hadn’t thought Wade would be so good at it.

“That’s right.” Deadpool praises. “I’ll fuck you, don’t you worry.” His arm goes behind his back and reveals two pieces of rope.

Peter renews his efforts to escape. Is he playing the part now? He’s not sure. He reasons that he must be, because he could easily overpower Wade if he wanted to.

“No! Please, don’t!” His hips buck and he twists fruitlessly. Something hard smacks the side of his face, stuns him. One broad hand pins his wrists over his head, arms stretched so high he feels the strain in his sockets.

“That’s not a good boy.” Deadpool says lowly. “Bad boys get punished.”

“No, please! I’m sorry!” Tears stream down Peter’s face.

Deadpool smiles sympathetically, looking very much like his devoted boyfriend and not an intruder come to defile him. “I believe you, baby. But you need to learn your lesson.” The tenderness vanishes.

Fingers ensnare Peter’s wet hair and yank his head back. The vulnerability of having his throat on display isn’t new, but the exhilaration is increased tenfold.

Deadpool ties both his hands to the bedposts, the knots tight and unless he uses his superhuman strength, inescapable. In a rush of motion Deadpool’s knees are planted on either side of Peter’s shoulders, the strong smell of arousal punching him in the face. Fingers pry his mouth open, receiving little resistance. Peter has no time to orient himself, Wade’s cock shoving into his mouth and throat relentlessly. If they were doing their normal routine, this is when Deadpool would murmur praising words, brush the hair out of his face and lightly thrust, waiting for his throat to open.

But this isn’t his Daddy or Wade, it’s a strange man whose forced his way into the apartment. (No, it isn’t. Yes it is. No. Yes.) Peter whines. There’s a buzzing at the base of his skull where Deadpool’s fingers are curled in his hair with a death grip. Reality distorts around him and snaps back, the same and yet somehow different. Or is it him who’s different?

Does he like this?

The question pops into his mind and he can’t ignore it however much he wants to. The physical stimulation is good. Rougher than he’s used to, but not necessarily bad. The emotional aspect is grossly _wrong_. Wade worships his body when they have sex, unabashedly vocal about his love for Peter. The harsh touch on his flesh in itself is fine, it’s the feeling of animosity behind it that makes him unsure.

Above him Deadpool groans, “fuck. How many dicks have you sucked, baby boy? Because you’re fucking incredible.” He grinds deep, holds Peter’s face against his pelvis. Precome trickles down his esophagus.

Pulled abruptly from his thoughts, Peter realizes he has been sucking Deadpool off. He’d been so lost in introspection he had inadvertently relaxed, taking the massive length deeply without choking.

Deadpool pulls out, calls him a cock sucking whore, and slides down. A hot mouth latches to his neck, marking him. He does the same thing in several places, teeth sinking into his skin.

Satisfied with his work Deadpool leans back. A hand moves to grip at his spit slicked throat, the pressure enough to restrict airflow but not to cut it off.

“Is your boss going to see that? I hope he does, then he’ll know what a little slut his precious Peter is.”

“How do you know my name?” His voice wavers. He’s slipping into a strange state of being. Part of him is aware what’s going on is a game they orchestrated. The other part, some primeval part, forgets.

Laughter rumbles in Deadpool’s chest. “I’ve had my eye on his cute little intern for a while.”

“You’re a psycho.” Peter surges upwards, restrained by the rope, and snarls.

“That’s not very nice.” Deadpool’s tone is sticky sweet. It’s a tone that, used against anyone else, promises death. “I was going to take my time preparing you, but that would be nicer than you deserve.”

He grabs their lube and slicks his fingers, shoving three into Peter. The fingers claw their way inside of him, spreading and thrusting for what must be a minute.

Deadpool lines his straining erection at Peter’s entrance, unmoving for a long moment. He holds Peter’s teary gaze, an unspoken out. Hands (when had they moved?) squeeze his hips.

Peter says nothing.

Then he’s being split apart. The spread burns, pain zipping up his spine. It hurts. Wade bottoms out and waits for five beats. Peter hears the roar of blood in his ears, the short gasps coming from his lips. His heart skitters, searching for a way out of its cage. Deadpool’s cock drags against his walls as he pulls out, hips snapping forward. He bludgeons Peter’s prostate and the boy’s vision whites out.

The pain and pleasure are both there, but they aren’t mixing. Peter’s mind blanks. He cries out, tears flooding his eyes. He writhes, legs kicking wildly.

He wants to stop. It hurts and it was okay before but now it’s not.

Why isn’t it okay now? He agreed to this. He _wanted_ to try this. Deadpool is having fun, why can’t he just be okay going along with the ride? They’ve done power play stuff before, he’s been restrained before, why is this different? Deadpool isn’t going to hurt him. The pain searing through him is going to give way to pleasure, he just needs to wait it out.

Perhaps it’s his stubbornness that’s pushed him here. He didn’t want to act out a rape, but his curiosity and desire to please Wade made him ignore his limits. And he’d been having fun. He really had; but now he’s not. He’s slipped into subspace before, high on ‘Daddy’s’ praise, and now he’s slipped into a place that he’s unfamiliar with. The sensations are the same as his subspace--incoherence and the floaty feeling of being totally unburdened--but it’s tainted. The trust he feels when Wade and he make love isn’t there.

The warmth of affection is replaced by a chill that’s seeped into his bones.

This powerlessness is frightening.

His safe word. What is his safe word? Kettle corn. His safe word that he’s never used before but has had since he got with Wade. Kettle corn. All he has to do is say kettle corn.

He wills himself to say it. Screams the words in his mind. They won’t come out. His mouth refuses to cooperate and his body is giving up on him too. It’s like he’s deep underwater, all his movements slowed. Can he breathe? Is he breathing? He can’t tell. This realization occurs to him and another follows. He can’t see. He can’t even feel if his eyelids are open or shut.

A frantic voice warbles through the water that seems to block his ears.

“--eter! Peter! Peter!” Deadpool. Deadpool and not a stranger. His boyfriend. His wise-cracking boyfriend who has an unholy love of Mexican food.

“Wade!” Peter sobs. “Wade I’m sorry.” He distantly feels himself being pulled into Deadpool’s lap, the comforting weight of arms around him. “I-I-I couldn’t say it, Wade. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He wails into Deadpool’s hoodie, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

Deadpool holds him tightly, lets him cry himself out. After the crying tempers, he speaks.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. This is my fault. I pushed you too far. I’m such a _stupid_ motherfucker. Peter I’m so sorry.”

“I couldn’t say it.” Peter whimpers. “I just couldn’t get the words out.”

Deadpool shushes him, stroking his hair. “We won’t do this again, baby boy. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Peter blinks, glancing down. His release is splattered on his lower stomach. He had come.

As he returns to himself he becomes more aware of his surroundings. The ropes tying him to the bed posts have been cut and he feels Wade’s deflating erection against his backside.

“But you didn’t co--”

“Don’t worry about that.” Deadpool says sternly. “We have sex all the time, it’s not everyday I traumatize my Petey-pie. You need a bubble bath, pronto. And, like, a million kisses.”

The coldness inside him dislodges, melts as the warmth of Wade’s love overcomes him. His head lolls, resting on Wade’s shoulder.

“I didn’t _not_ like it.” He admits honestly. “I just… I don’t know.”

Deadpool kisses the crown of his head. “This isn’t your scene, jellybean. That’s okay. I’m so proud of you.” He kisses him again. “Love you so much.” He stands, cradling Peter like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “How about a bath, and then breakfast? I’ll make you non-trademarked Morty mouse pancakes.”

Peter nods, his endorphins coming down and a mellow feeling settling over him.

“Okay,” he agrees. Deadpool sits him down on the lid of the toilet seat. “Stay with me?”

Deadpool grin is strained with remorse and he squirts much too much bubble bath into their tub. “Whatever you want, Petey-pie.”

After a relaxing bath, which involved a battalion of rubber ducks and bubble beards and afros, Peter feels wholly himself again. Which allows him to comfort Wade, who is also shaken by their latest bedroom endeavor. 

Once both of them are more or less back to their usual selves Wade brews new coffee and makes them breakfast. The rest of the day is spent cuddling and watching Disney movies. Snuggled up to the man, eyes glued to the television as Zootopia plays, Peter feels safe.

Later in the night, they make love. As Wade Wilson and Peter Parker. As equals. It’s slow and gentle and sweet.

It’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a fic where Peter needed to use his safe word, and this was the result. Full disclaimer, all my knowledge (like Peter's) comes from reading articles and stories. If there's anything I didn't properly portray, feel free to tell me.  
> 


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